Knot All is Forgiven (Lunarcrest City Omegaverse #2)

1. Jordan

Chapter one

Begging isn't something I want to get used to, but it feels like my only option in this situation. "Guys, please, you have to feel it too," I plead, reaching across the table toward my best friends.

Simon, Rafe, and Cyrus exchange a look with one another that I have come to know so well over the past decade. They are afraid to tell me something.

I met the guys in elementary school. We were all in the same third-grade class, Ms. Strider, and immediately latched onto one another. Since then, we have been nearly inseparable. When we turned sixteen and the boys presented as Alphas, their pack connection immediately snapped into place, to no one's surprise.

But, to everyone's surprise, I did not present as an Omega.

Which was fine. I'm fine. I'm eighteen now and still haven't presented, but I know I will. In my gut, clear as day, is the feeling that my Omega is trapped somehow. I know that one day, I will present as one, and then I'll scent-match the guys and join their pack.

Pack Stargazer.

Yeah, the name is terrible. No one should allow sixteen-year-old boys to pick pack names.

"Jordan," Simon says gently. His hazel eyes are earnest behind his black-framed glasses. His blonde hair is nearly white, and he keeps it cut and styled in the way you'd expect to see on a preacher's son. His soft, kind face has talked me through many hurt feelings and scraped knees over the years. "At this point, we all need to accept that you're probably a Beta, peaches. I know it's not what we wanted, but it's going to be okay. We'll figure it out."

"I'm not a Beta!" I insist, crossing my arms over my chest. I realize I look like a petulant child, but I am right about this, no matter what anyone says. "I'm just a late presenter. I'm going to be an Omega. I know my body."

"Ninety-five percent of Omegas present before they're eighteen," Cyrus replies. His back is rigid, posture impeccable as always, curly brown hair brushing the tops of his ears. He's muscular, having spent most of high school playing on the hockey team, and his biceps flex as he crosses his arms over his chest. He is unfairly hot. He's also easily the most cynical of all of us. "This doesn't mean we care about you any less."

I shove back my chair from our table at Meg's, the diner down the road from our school. We're due to graduate in a few weeks, and then they're off to Lunarcrest City for university. "It just means you don't want to be with me," I spit. "It just means you're turning your back on me."

"Not on you." Cyrus's voice is pained, stretched thin as he tries to justify whatever bullshit is about to come out of his mouth. "But what happens if we meet our scent matched Omega, and they try to make us choose?"

"I'm your Omega!" I nearly shriek. "I don't know how you guys don't feel it! I know it in my soul, as much as I know I'm alive."

Rafe has been silent until now, his dark eyes downcast at the table. He's the quietest of the three, always has been, and his long legs, dark hair, and rich cinnamon-toned skin make him the definition of tall, dark, and handsome. His voice rumbles as he speaks. "We're sorry, Jordy, but that's not true. You're a Beta. It doesn't mean we love you any less, but it does mean you're not our Omega."

I slump back into my chair, defeated, and press my forehead on the table. My auburn hair falls into my eyes, the waves frizzy from today's rain. Simon slides into the chair next to me and tries to wrap his arm around my waist, and I jolt as if he had shocked me. When we make eye contact, his face is stricken. "I… peaches, I'm sorry. You know this isn't personal."

"Feels really fucking personal, Simon," I snap.

This is bullshit. I know who I am. I know I'm an Omega, and these three are my scent matches. I've got no doubts about that. And they're not listening to me. They don't believe me.

Just like my parents.

Just like the doctors.

"Just… give me another year, please?" I say quietly, unable to make eye contact with the boys I love. "Give me another year to present. Don't give up on me just yet."

"A year isn't going to change anything, Jordan," Cyrus says softly. "We're going to stay your friend regardless. It's not like we're running away. We're just telling you were not your Alphas."

"Because you don't believe me when I say I'm an Omega," I snap bitterly.

No one ever believes. I may be late presenting, but I know I will one day, and they'll all have egg on their faces then.

"You know what?" I jump to my feet and throw a couple of dollars on the table to cover my milkshake and fries before tossing my backpack over my shoulder. "You lot do what you want. I know the truth, and you'll realize it soon, too. I love you all, and I'm not giving up on us. It breaks my heart that you would give up on me so easily." I scrub my hands down my face, taking a deep breath to steady myself. "I am not giving up on you. Try not to give up on me, either."

It's been a year since Pack Stargazer left our little town for Lunarcrest City, and I've been working as a waitress at Meg's, saving money in hopes of joining them.

I text with the boys often enough, asking them questions about people they've met, reminding them that I'm here, waiting for them until they realize that I am their Omega.

Of course, I haven't presented yet, and the doctor is adamant it won't happen. "You have no presentation symptoms," Dr. Roberts told me last month. "I know you believe you are an Omega, but it's time to admit that that may just be in your head, honey."

He's known me since I was in my mother's womb, so he feels comfortable being condescending. "It's not in my head, Dr. Roberts. I know it as much as I know that there is blood in my body. I don't know why I haven't presented yet, but I will."

"Well, maybe you should try losing weight. Typically, Omegas aren't as chubby as you."

How can he call me chubby? I've been working so hard to keep my weight down. Everything gets measured and thrown onto the food scale. Mom has been insistent on it for the past year.

Maybe I have a genetic malfunction. If I could save enough money for a consultation at the Design Clinic, where you can pick out specific genes and design your child, even going as far as planning out their designation, perhaps I could get some answers.

Untying the stained black apron from today's shift and tossing it on my desk, I daydream about being with the guys in the city. In my check presenter, which I use to hold my notepad to scribble orders, I pull out the tips from the day and count them, meticulously writing down the dollar amount on the notebook beside the little painted treasure chest I keep my money in.

At this rate, I'll be able to join the guys in six months – a year, tops.

I sneak a glance at the clock. I've got twenty minutes until our weekly video call.

Every Thursday night at nine, the guys will pile up on their ratty couch in their shitty apartment and video call me. It feels like old times, the four of us just laughing and talking about our lives. I can't wait until I get to be there in person.

We carefully avoid the topic of my presentation, choosing instead to talk about our lives and experiences. I don't feel the need to constantly remind them that I'm their scent match.

They'll figure it out eventually.

After a quick shower to get the smell of fried food off me, I throw my hair up in a messy bun and snuggle into a fuzzy gray lounge set. I prop myself against the scuffed white wooden headboard from my childhood bedroom. I save more money living at home, and my parents aren't keen to see me go, so it works out well.

Still, I hate that I feel like I'm exactly where I was a year ago, and they're moving on, living big lives in university.

The minutes tick by, and my phone hasn't rang. The guys are never late. Never. They always call me, from Rafe's phone, at nine p.m. Every time.

By nine twenty-three, I'm distraught, lost in worry that something terrible has happened to them. I call Rafe, but the call goes to voicemail.

Cyrus' phone also goes to voicemail.

It's Simon who answers. He looks different than he did when we were kids. His glasses have been replaced with contacts, and he has a short stubble on his face. His eyes look red, and his lips are a little swollen. "What's wrong? Is everything okay?" I blurt out in greeting.

"It's fine, peaches," he says softly.

"Where are Rafe and Cyrus?" I ask, squinting to see his background. "I've been so worried."

"We're here, Jordy," Rafe says, moving into the view of the camera. Cyrus also slides into the frame, and I sigh in relief. "Sorry, we're late. We've… well, some stuff happened."

"What's going on?" I can see the fear in my eyes in that tiny rectangle in the corner of my screen, and no matter how much I try to reign in my emotions, I can't. Something is seriously wrong, and they're keeping it from me.

Simon looks at his packmates indiscernibly, then back at the camera. "Well, okay. So…" he stutters, stumbling over words like he cannot force them out.

"We met someone," Cyrus says brusquely. "An Omega."

My stomach fills with lead, and the phone falls out of my hand, crashing onto my faded pink comforter. I give myself to the count of five before I pick it back up. Before I even get the chance to ask clarifying questions, Cyrus continues.

"She's our scent match, Jordan. I'm sorry. I know you were holding out hope, but we've found our Omega."

No.

No.

No.

This isn't true. I don't believe it.

How can they find their Omega when their Omega is me?

But why would they lie to me? They wouldn't hurt me on purpose.

But I know I'm meant to be with them! I know I'm an Omega!

But if they have their Omega, maybe I was wrong.

Maybe everyone has been right that I'm just a Beta, and this is all in my head.

Is it all in my head?

It doesn't feel like it's in my head. It feels so real. So visceral.

"Say something, Jordy," Rafe says softly. I didn't notice I was crying, but it's clear as day in that tiny picture of my face. I shake my head silently, unable to form the words that long to spill out of me.

I love you all so much.

Why don't you love me too?

I'm supposed to be yours.

This isn't right. This can't be right.

"I'm so, so sorry, Jordan," Simon says, looking almost as upset as me. "We never wanted to hurt you. But we couldn't let you keep putting your life on hold for us."

"But we're meant to be together," I say so quietly that it would be a miracle if my microphone picked it up.

It doesn't, of course.

"We'll still be friends, Jordan," Cyrus adds from behind Simon's shoulder. "We'll always care for you."

"Can I still… be in the pack? Just as your Beta?" I'm grasping at straws now because even though I don't believe I'm a Beta, I'm willing to pretend if it means keeping them in my life.

Rafe sighs heavily and shakes his head slowly. "She doesn't want another female in the pack, Jordan."

It's the final nail in the coffin, burying my hope and happiness six feet under.

"I gotta go," I mutter, hanging up immediately.

I can't listen to how they care for me, how they'll always be in my life. I can't stand hearing them remind me that they'll always be there for me.

Because I know that isn't true.

They have their Omega. What could they want with me, anyway?